The Great Divide
by Mapu
Summary: R because this is a death fic. My take on what would have happened if things had gone differently that night on the train platform


From Across a Great Divide.   
by Mapu

Due south and all its characters belong to Alliance ... this fic is not for profit   
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**WARNING: Death FIC**

Ray Vecchio yanked open the top drawer of his desk, frantically rummaging through the contents. Frustrated at his inability to find what he needed he slammed the hapless drawer shut and yanked open the next one. Hoping that, by some miracle, he hadn't really lost the contact details of the material witness to his ram-raid case Ray began a systematic search of the remaining drawers. As he open the bottom drawer, his eyes fell upon the large stack of unopened letters he had shoved into the corner. Letters from Benton Fraser, his one-time friend. 

Ray was struck by the realization that he hadn't received a letter from Fraser in over a month. Unusual, considering the letters had been arriving like clockwork every two weeks for the nearly two years since Fraser had deserted him. It still angered him that Fraser had chosen to run away with his criminal lover, Victoria Metcalfe. Maybe it had finally sunk into that thick Mountie head of his that Ray wanted nothing to do with him. Ray considered taking the letters down to the furnace to get rid of them once and for all, but if he was wrong and another letter arrived, it would mean another trip to the utilities room. Ray dismissed the idea, deciding he would wait a few more weeks and if Fraser didn't send anymore he'd burn the stack and make an end of it. Even Benton Fraser had a limit to his persistence.

Slamming shut the drawer, he glanced desperately over his unkempt desk a last time before he'd have to go in and tell Welsh what had happened. Relief surged through him as he spotted the edge of the offending slip of paper poking out from under his phone. Snapping it up, he attached it securely to the top of the on-scene witness statement to stop it mysteriously vanishing on him again. 

Seeing the letters had awakened a lot of feelings Ray would rather not have been reminded of. The hardship his family had suffered since Fraser had abandoned them had very nearly torn them apart. They had managed to keep the house but it had taken sacrifices from them all. The children did without everything but the necessities and Francesca had taken a series of menial jobs. In many ways Francesca had felt Fraser's betrayal the hardest. She'd lost not only her financial comfort but also much of her faith and belief in people. Ma never mentioned it, but she'd been hurt too. She'd trusted and loved Fraser, treating him as if he'd been one of her own children. Ma's antique clock still sat on the mantle where it had always been, but thanks to Fraser's rampage through the house, it no longer worked. Ray had vowed that someday he would have it repaired but first the mortgage needed to be paid. In the heartache and confusion of those first few weeks after Fraser had run, the family had been through hell. Fraser's name was no longer mentioned in the Vecchio household.

Eventually, Ray had come to accept Fraser wasn't coming back and had gone to Fraser's apartment. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd hoped to find, but there been no answers there. Ray had packed up Fraser's possessions and, then not knowing what else to do with them, dumped them in the attic at home. The boxes were still there. Dief stayed with them for a while after his release from the vet hospital but eventually Ray had arranged with the Canadian Forestry department to have him taken up north and released to the wild. It seemed like the right thing to do. With a conscious effort, Ray put aside his thoughts about Benton Fraser. He had become adept over the last two years at pretending to be oblivious to any reference to his previous friendship with the Canadian. Fraser had never really been his friend. There was no way a real friend would have run off with a criminal and left him with a massive debt the way Fraser had. 

Ray shook off the mood and picking up his phone to dial home, while simultaneously struggling into his coat. 

A sweetly feminine voice answered. "Hello?"

With the simple greeting, the woman instantly erased the last of Ray's melancholy. 

"Hey, Honey, I'm finished here. Do you or Ma want me to pick up anything on the way home?" he asked brightly.

"I think Francesca was hoping for a lift home from work," Irene Vecchio answered.

"Oh, right. I'll swing by and pick her up."

"Ok. Love you."

"Yeah, I love you too," Ray answered and ended the call.

***

[Three weeks later]  
"Detective Vecchio?" asked the man coming up beside Ray's desk. He was short rounding man with a pleasantly open face, and he carried a small box and thin folder under one arm.

"Yes?"

The man smiled and held out his hand, which Ray automatically took. "I'm Peter Faulkner from the RCMP benefits association."

Ray let go of the man's hand realising he had something to do with Fraser. Ray had better things to waste his time on. "Look, I'm really too busy"

"This won't take long, Mr Vecchio, I just need you to sign some papers and I'll be gone."

"If it has anything to do with Benton Fraser, then you got the wrong guy. I want nothing to do with the man."

Faulkner's face fell. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry, Mr Vecchio, it's just that you were listed as Mr Fraser's beneficiary on his policy"

"Policy? Wait a minute, what kind of policy?"

The man put the box down on the edge of Ray's desk and opened the folder he carried. "Ah, the standard RCMP life insurance policy. Of course, Mr Fraser resigned his commission, so the realization value has been greatly reduced, but since he maintained payments into his retirement the policy remains valid."

"Fraser's dead?" Ray asked feeling a cloud of cold shock descend over his mind.

"Oh, dear! I do apologise, detective. I assumed you knew!"

"When? How?"

Faulkner hesitated a moment then referred to his folder again. "Umm, nearly two months ago, on 11 January, of an illness -- pneumonia. My report says he also suffered the complicating effects of long-term malnutrition and exhaustion. His death was ruled a death by natural causes."

Ray swallowed convulsively and shook his head in disbelief. He remembered the phone call Fraser had tried to make soon after he'd run off. Ray had been so angry he'd hardly heard a word the other man had said, in the end Ray had cursed him and warned him to stay out of his life before hanging up. Fraser had taken the threat to heart and never attempted to call him again. It had been the last time the two men had spoken. Images of him and Fraser together in happier times tumbled though his mind. Fraser standing still as a statue on a chilly Chicago street guarding the door to the Canadian consulate, the badly hidden amusement on Fraser's face as he helped Ray climb out of yet another dumpster, a pensive Fraser after a particularly meaningful heart to heart discussion in the Riv late one night and a flash of a confused, guilt-ridden face fading away as the train gathered up speed and left him behind.

"Mr Vecchio, I could come back later," the insurance officer offered kindly.

"No. No, it's all right. Take a seat." Ray waved Faulkner toward the chair beside his desk.

The insurance representative nodded his acceptance and took a seat but made no attempt to continue his business, giving Ray enough time to compose himself.

"You said you had some papers for me?" Ray asked after a time.

"Yes, termination and fulfilment of policy papers." The man extracted a set of legal papers from his folder and passed them over. 

Ray read through them briefly, not fully processing what he read. Picking up a pen, he signed where Faulkner indicated. 

"Thank you, Mr. Vecchio, I'm sorry to have caused you distress like this. This is the policy payout. It's in Canadian funds I'm afraid, but if you take it to your bank they'll be able to process it for you."

Ray nodded mutely and accepted the payment sheet with its attached cheque. 

"Mr Vecchio, I wonder, I know you said you don't want to have anything further to do with Mr. Fraser's affairs but I have here a few of his personal possessions. The RCMP forwarded them to me in hopes that you might like to keep them, or would you prefer that I take them back and dispose of them?"  


Ray shook his head. "No, leave them."

Faulkner nodded and stood, leaving the box where it was. "Thank you for your time, detective, and you have my condolences."

Ray nodded but didn't notice the man leave. He sat for a long time, the insurance payout notice in his hands, and his eyes trapped by the amount -- $34,300. Benton Fraser's life had been worth less than $35,000. It didn't seem nearly enough.

Ray pulled the small cardboard box closer and opened it. There wasn't much inside the box but every item was pure Benton Fraser; Fraser's father's watch, his compass, a sheathed hunting knife and several small, leather-bound notebooks. Ray picked up one of the notebooks and opened it to a random page. 

12 June, 1995.  
I saw a white half-wolf at a distance today, and for an instant I would have sworn it was Diefenbaker. The wolf was in the company of a park ranger and seemed to be very comfortable with him. Perhaps it was the protective air this wolf displayed toward its master that reminded me of Dief. I wonder where he is now and if he's all right. I hope he's forgiven me. I know I'll never see him again.

Ray closed the book and put it back in the box, choosing another he flipped through page after page of neatly written notes until an entry caught his eye.

21 May, 1994.  
Victoria left today. In a way it is a relief. She wasn't happy when I told her I had already sold my father's land and the money was gone. She tried to convince me to help her plan a robbery and I refused. I have fallen far, but it seems not far enough for that. It was then that I understood she has no intention of changing. We had a terrible fight. The doctors tell me that the injury to my shoulder will recover enough for me to regain some use from it. Fortunately, I've secured employment in an administrative role where my temporary incapacitation will not prevent me fulfilling my duties.  
Duty -- that word once held real meaning for me. It's a strange and terrible freedom not to be bound by duty anymore. My duty to Victoria, like my duty to the RCMP is over; all that remains is my obligation to Ray. I had two choices on that platform, to stay or to go. Victoria called, telling me I would regret it if I didn't go with her and in that moment I knew she was right. Funny thing is that I regret that I went. Two choices, both painful, but only one was right. I chose badly. It's unfair that my moment of foolishness should hurt Ray and his family as it has. Duty is no more, but my obligation to do everything I can to correct my mistake remains. 

Ray sat pensively for a long while before he reached down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out the stack of letters, each addressed to him in Fraser's crisp handwriting. 

The first letter Ray opened contained a slip of paper and a cheque from a real-estate agent to the value of 12,500 Canadian dollars. Ray gasped as he realised that this had been the money from the sale of Fraser's father's land. The attached note, also written in Fraser's neat script, simply read. 

Ray,  
Toward my debt.

Benton Fraser.

Ray picked up the next letter and opened it. It contained an identical note and a bank cheque of several hundred dollars drawn against the bank of Canada. Each letter Ray opened contained the same note and a cheque of varying amounts. The only exception was the most recent letter -- the note in that letter had been different. 

Ray,   
I regret I cannot repay even my financial debt to you, 

Benton Fraser.

The postmark of the letter dated it at January 10th, the day before Fraser had died. Ray thought back with a mental wince to the contempt he'd felt when he'd received the letter and shoved it into the drawer with the others. Ray flipped through the notebooks in the box to the most recent one and opened it to the last entry.

10 January, 1996.  
My fear has diminished. When I first realized I was dying, I was consumed by fear and regret. I still feel the regret but it's an old pain and there is comfort in the realization that I will bring no more hurt to those I have loved. My father once told me that the true measure of a man is shown by how those who knew him, remember him. I regret that I will be measured all too accurately.

"Vecchio, are you planing to do any work today?" Lt. Welsh's annoyed voice interrupted Ray's thoughts and he jerked back in his chair. Ray glanced up at his superior and reached up to quickly dash the embarrassing moisture from his eyes. Whatever the Lieutenant had been going to say to him was forgotten. 

"What's happened?" the Lieutenant asked, true concern in his voice and features. 

Ray gestured to the opened letters and box on his desk. "It's Fraser, he's dead, sir."

Welsh sat in Ray's visitor's chair waiting expectantly for him to continue. 

Ray cleared his throat. "He died two months ago, and I only found out about it today." Picking up the pile of bank cheques he flipped through them. "Over the last two years he's sent me nearly 48,000 Canadian dollars. I never even opened the letters. He sent me that much money and he died of pneumonia and -- and malnutrition. How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do with these?" Ray asked, tossing the cheques back onto the desk.

Welsh held his silence for a long time, before reaching over to pick up one of the cheques and examine it. He put the cheque back on top of the rest. "You bank them. Then you thank the memory of the man who was once your friend. Everyone makes mistakes Vecchio. You, Fraser, everyone, but you didn't make his for him. Fraser was an adult, he made his own choices and you are not responsible for them. As I see it, you have two options. You can forgive your friend his mistakes, or you can hold them against him. You need to decide what your friendship was worth."

Ray nodded, unable to meet Welsh's eyes. Fraser had hurt him, and although he'd never wanted to see any harm come to the man, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to forgive him. He wasn't sure learning of Fraser's death had changed that.

"Why don't you take a few day's off? Take Irene away, and sort through this," Welsh offered.

Ray nodded. "Thanks, that would help."

Epilogue

[Two weeks later]  
The small chapel was filled close to full capacity and Ray glanced over the faces as he took his place at the podium, he recognising many of the faces but not all. A light smile tugged at the corner of his face as he realized Fraser had been wrong. There were a large number of people from all walks of life who still remembered the man, Benton Fraser, well -- himself among them. Ray was a little surprised by the number present. When he'd organised this memorial service he'd expected a fair sized gathering, but nothing like this. 

Ray rested his hands against the smooth surface of the podium and tried to calm his wildly beating heart and smother his nerves with an act of sheer will power. He'd never been particularly fond of speaking in front of large groups of people. Taking a deep breath, Ray began his eulogy.

"Many of you know there is a lot of history between Benton Fraser and myself, and most of you knew Fraser well, at least the Benton Fraser that he let people see, but not many of you knew him like I did. I want to tell you a little about my friend, Benny..."

Finita.


End file.
